


An Answer

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: Quarantine Drabbles [120]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castle Steward!Jack, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Servant!Ianto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:55:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25446475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Torchwood Kingdom, Ianto decides, is bloody insane. He doesn't understand anything, everyone is very nice except for one scary person, and oh yeah. He's got a crush on his superior.Jack just wants to know why his new friend is so upset.
Relationships: Jack Harkness & Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Series: Quarantine Drabbles [120]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677655
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	An Answer

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to ukdramafan for asking for more!

Fandom: Torchwood

Prompt: This was very sweet. I realise it's only one of many short stories, but I'd love to see more of this verse, to learn more of how this society and this castle work, and of course to see if Ianto can stop blushing blushing, or if Jack can make him blush harder! - ukdramafan

* * *

Ianto’s going to be completely honest: Torchwood is bloody insane.

He loves the castle, don’t get him wrong, but good _lord_ are there a lot of things he doesn’t understand. For one, there don’t seem to be _any_ royal customs like the one’s he’s used to—not that he ever really got to a place where he was privy to that kind of knowledge—and for another, he’s got no idea how the hierarchy around here works.

The King isn’t called a King, he’s called the Doctor. Which doesn’t make sense but alright, that’s fine. The Doctor also doesn’t seem to be around a lot which is still fine but then why go through such a lengthy process to pick a new servant? The closest explanation Ianto’s been able to get is that the Doctor travels around and looks for new worlds, new kingdoms to ally with. But then why send your most high-ranking—you know what, fine. That’s fine too.

The person who _actually_ seems to be in charge, Yvonne, scares him to death. Which, alright, yes, Ianto’s scared of pretty much everything, he’ll admit it, but he _really_ doesn’t like Yvonne. From the moment she laid eyes on him, he could tell she wasn’t a fan. Maybe it was because he wasn’t originally _from_ the Torchwood kingdom, and he didn’t know anything. Maybe it was because he was clearly uncomfortable while he was trying to understand the new place. Maybe it was because the Doctor Chose him out of all the other contestants. Whatever the case, her pinched face as he was Chosen anyway was enough to ensure he stayed as far out of her way as possible.

Speaking of the Choice, that brings him onto the subject of the castle steward.

Ianto has worked with castle stewards before. They normally sit behind desks with mounds of paperwork and an army of servants. Not this one. This one runs around with the rest of the servants, sending smiles and winks and playful jabs at the rest of the staff. He doesn’t seem to _be_ of a higher rank, not really, but he has one in the most technical sense. Ianto doesn’t know what to do.

Because this place is _weird,_ he decides. There’s no clear cut divide between the different ranks of servants; everyone below the royals seems to be on equal footing. And that would be fine if Ianto were _told_ that. But he hasn’t been told that; it’s just what he’s seen. And that means it might not be true. Ianto _hates_ not knowing.

They…they seem to operate as one big household, he decides eventually, where every single aspect of the kingdom works together to support each other. It’s not a bad thing, far from it. This is the most peaceful place he’s ever worked. But he can’t help feeling like a fork that’s _just_ out of place. He doesn’t quite understand where he fits yet. And normally, this would be solved by fading into the background, watching, learning silently, until he feels confident enough to slip back in as a part of the machine.

That would be _easier_ if it weren’t for said castle steward.

Listen, alright, Ianto doesn’t respond well to compliments. Well, hang on, that’s not…let’s rephrase.

Ianto isn’t used to receiving compliments past the quick off-hand remark of a job well done. He’s used to being praised quickly for quality work. Sometimes that praise comes in the form of words, a soft smile, or even a bonus or time off. Sometimes it comes in the absence of…punishment. But that’s it. That’s everything he’s used to.

He’s _not_ used to having the first thing someone says to him be that they think he’s pretty.

He’s _not_ used to that person being a _superior._

He’s _not_ used to being baffled by similar compliments every day.

Ianto knows why he’s doing it. He’s so not good at receiving compliments, his entire face and neck go bright red. Even his ears. He can _feel_ the rush of warmth every single time. In fairness to _him,_ his body seems to have decided that its immediate response to anything is to slam a big red button that says ‘blush’ and flood his face. It’s quite rude, actually, but he hasn’t figured out any way to stop it.

He’s sure his bodily version of a bonfire is very entertaining to the steward. He’s been told to, er, get it sorted out by previous superiors, even if it did come in the form of sarcastic or polite praise. But he can’t. So he hides and ducks away so they don’t have to see it.

But the steward, oh no. He can’t get away from him.

He ambushes Ianto when he’s coming out of the stores. He calls Ianto into his office and loads his arms with paperwork, taking advantage of the fact that Ianto can’t go anywhere. It’s…

Ianto buries his head in his hands, taking a pause from his drink and existential crisis to silently bemoan his stupid heart.

Because if it were _truly_ just an annoyance, it wouldn’t be this bad. He doubts he’d be blushing this much either.

But he…he likes it.

There. He said it.

He can’t deny that it makes his heart race every time the steward sends a smile his way or tips him a wink. He can’t deny that he’s changed his pattern so he’s got a greater chance of running into him. He can’t deny that he—

oh.

_Oh._

_Oh, no._

No, no, no, this is so unprofessional, this shouldn’t be happening.

Through his fingers, Ianto lets out a groan.

Does…does he…

No, of course not. It’s—it’s just because he’s not used to it, that’s all. It’s just because this is the first time he’s been shown this kind of affection and his brain is latching onto it. That’s it. That’s all it is.

…

… _oh no._

Ianto turns to the half-full drink and downs it. He’s got a damn crush on the castle steward.

Well, if he’s in this far, he…he may as well use his name.

He’s got a crush on Jack.

* * *

Jack sighs. It’s well past sundown, and he needs to make sure all the torches are lit properly before he beds down for the night. He rounds the corner and stops short.

“Ianto?”

His head jerks up. The tease is right on the tip of his tongue — some cheap jibe about being out so late for someone so young — but it stops as he sees his face. It dies in his mouth.

He’s…his…his _eyes._ He looks like a little foal cowering in the corner of the stable. Jack’s heart almost stops. Instinctively, he reaches out to take Ianto in his arms but he bolts away.

“Ianto!”

Ianto’s fast, but he knows the castle. He’s running down the cellar passageway towards the storerooms. Jack sets down his books and ducks around the end. He has _just_ enough time to open his arms before Ianto runs straight into his chest.

If he thought his heart ached when he saw him crying, it’s nothing compared to the pain he feels now when Ianto shoves himself away from him and bolts again. He follows him. He _can’t_ leave him like this. He _can’t._

Eventually, he corners him — albeit unknowingly — in one of the tower chambers. He stays in the doorway, arms spread in a gesture of surrender, and watches him.

Ianto looks frantically around the space, even going so far as to push on some of the walls as if hoping they’ll give way. They won’t, and he says so quietly.

The last part of his ‘flight’ seems to settle, and he hovers in the center of the room. He still looks like a scared animal, so Jack does what General Harper says to do with animals. Speak softly, move quietly, make them trust you.

“Shh, it’s okay, Yan,” he murmurs as he edges forwards. Using the nickname seems to do two things at once. Good: he realizes it’s him. Bad: that doesn’t seem to have helped him any.

“H-hello Sir—Sir Harkness,” and _hearts above_ Jack’s heart is going to shatter because he’s trying _so hard_ to fight whatever’s eating him and he’s doing it by defaulting to his polite servant instincts and he’s never seen anyone so clearly try to hide behind civility but he can’t breathe properly so he can’t get his words out, “h-how can I h-help y-you?”

“Are you alright?” As soon as he asks, Jack curses because _of course_ he’s not alright, he’s sobbing and hyperventilating.

“I—I’m okay.”

He almost laughs.

“Darling, you are about as far from fine as may be possible,” Jack says. He’s now about three paces from him, if he keeps going he can hold him soon.

“I—I’m okay.”

It’s not any more convincing, so he tries something else. “I know I may not be someone you want to talk to, but I can’t leave you like this.”

He flinches and backs up. “N-no, I can’t cry in front of y-you, I can’t…I _can’t_.”

“What on earth do you mean, Yan? Of course you can cry, it’s alright, _amur,_ of course you can.” Jack’s brow furrows in confusion. Why would Ianto not want to cry? Surely he knows he won’t hurt him?

Then it dawns on him that maybe he _doesn’t_ know that. He doesn’t see him very often where he doesn’t make Ianto blush or squirm or embarrass him and they’re not close enough for him to know he means him no harm. He’s got every reason to believe he’s going to tease him until he’s utterly broken. _And_ he just used a pet name he’s probably associated with his flirting and _hearts he’s making a mess of this._

So he takes a deep breath and tries to pretend like the sight of Ianto crying and scared in front of him isn’t making him want to cry in return.

“Ianto,” he calls softly, “Ianto, can you hear me?”

The chamber rings with the sound of his sobs but Jack gets a nod.

“Can you look at me, please?”

“I-is that s-trict—“ Ianto hiccups— “strictly necessary?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Jack’s heart clenches in his throat when Ianto looks at him. No, no, this is all _wrong._ He looks so _scared,_ his nose is so _red,_ oh, Ianto, who did this to you?

“Can I come a little closer?”

Ianto nods stiffly, even though Jack winces when he sees his hands tighten into fists. He does come closer, even if it’s nowhere _near_ as close as he’d like. He reaches out slowly, tucking the other hand behind his back so it’s not a threat.

Ianto eyes it like it’s a dagger and _hearts Jack is going to start crying this poor thing—_

“You’re shaking,” he says instead, injecting more patience into his tone, “please. I’d hate for you to fall over.”

Ianto’s hand is cold. it should never be cold. Moving carefully, telegraphing his movements so Ianto can stop him if he wants, Jack takes Ianto’s hand between his, holding it close. It’s shaking.

“Now,” he murmurs, “why don’t you take a few deep breaths for me?”

It’s hard. It’s so hard to not sweep Ianto into his arms because _hearts_ it hurts him, seeing him like this, but it’s worth it when Ianto’s shoulders sag and he looks a little less like he’s about to dive out of the window.

“Good,” Jack murmurs, “good, Ianto. Shh…shh…it’s okay. It’s okay.”

And oh, oh no, he can see that horrible servant mask settling back into place. Before he can stop himself—

“Don’t.”

He _hates_ the way Ianto flinches. “D-don’t what?”

Jack softens his tone, reaching up to run his fingers over Ianto’s cheek. “Don’t put that mask back on, Ianto. It’s going to hurt.”

Ianto tries. He tries and Jack can see it and it’s _awful_ and the wobble of his jaw makes Jack want to burst into tears but then he slumps, grows smaller. Jack cups the back of his head and tries not to grin too much at the relief he feels when Ianto leans into the touch. He steps closer, bringing the man into a bubble of intimacy.

“Thank you,” he whispers, “good job, Ianto.”

“F-for what?”

“For crying. For trusting me. I know that can’t have been easy for you,” Jack whispers, “but you did it. I’m proud of you.”

Ianto _keens_ and Jack’s heart _is_ about to give out. He pleads for Ianto to let him give him a hug and when he gets it, he wraps his arms around him so tightly he can feel his muscles already starting to protest. He doesn’t care. He’s got his arms full of Ianto and his mouth full of sweet nothings and he pours his heart out, murmuring soft reassurances into Ianto’s ear as the man shudders.

“Shh…shh…oh, sweetie, it’s okay. It’s okay, _amur,_ I’m right here. I’m right here, I won’t let anything hurt you. Oh, oh, Ianto…hush now, dearest, everything’s alright. Everything will be alright, you have my word, darling…”

He keeps up the litany of reassurances until Ianto wraps his arms around Jack’s waist and pulls him close. And _oh,_ if Jack weren’t already in over his head he would’ve been swept right off his feet. Ianto’s strong, his weight solid, and so, _so_ warm. He’s clinging to Jack like a raft in a storm and it’s everything Jack needs to get enough courage to press a kiss to the man’s head.

Ianto freezes.

Oh. Oh no, what did he too? Was it too soon? Did he mess up?

“Ianto?”

Ianto _collapses_ and it’s all Jack can do to hold him up, easing them to the floor and all but yanking the man into his lap. Then it all comes tumbling out, uncertainties, apologies, fear, and now Jack _is_ crying, because no one bothered to explain things to Ianto and now _he’s hurting._

He answers with his own babble, about how no, Ianto hasn’t done anything wrong, no, it’s alright that he’s still trying and hasn’t figured everything out yet, it’s fine, it’s absolutely fine, he’s allowed to be scared, no, it’s completely alright that he’s like this right now, Jack’s _not_ his superior, he just works somewhere else…shh…shh…you haven’t done anything wrong, Ianto…shh…it’s okay…everything is okay.

“Y-you’re not my superior?”

“No,” Jack says softly, tucking a stray piece of hair behind Ianto’s ear, “I just have a different department. We’re on equal footing here, Yan, it’s okay. You don’t need to be afraid of that.”

Jack’s really not sure _why_ that’s such a big deal, or why that piece of information makes Ianto slump, relieved, into his arms, but he’s not complaining. He chuckles at Ianto’s exhausted huff, carding a hand through his hair.

“Now,” he murmurs, “can you tell me what’s got you so upset, Yan?”

Ianto shakes his head. “…lot on my mind.”

“Well, let me help.” Jack frowns a little when Ianto still seems reluctant. “If it’s any consolation, I’ve got lots on my mind too?”

“You do?”

“Mhm. You help me with mine, I’ll help you with yours?”

Ianto sits up a little, just enough for Jack to see his face. He nods.

“Is it bad that the first thing I thought of,” Jack murmurs, lifting a hand to run it over Ianto’s cheek again, “is that it’s unfair of you to look so pretty while you’re falling apart?”

A wounded noise escapes Ianto’s throat and he buries his face in his hands. “ _Don’t,_ please.”

“Whoa, whoa, hey, come here,” Jack murmurs, “shh…I’m sorry, I’m sorry, what’s—what’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this,” Ianto says miserably, “I—I know it’s fun and I blush like—like crazy but I _can’t_ do this, I can’t do the fake compliments, I—“

“ _Fake?_ ”

It’s only when Ianto flinches again that Jack realizes he shouted that. But, come on, _fake?_

He takes a deep, slow, breath.

“Ianto,” he says, channeling as much sincerity into his voice as he can, “Ianto, they’re not fake. I mean every single word I say to you, every single one.”

He smiles when Ianto peeks through his fingers.

“Let me prove it?”

“H-how?”

Jack takes Ianto’s face in his hands, thrilling at the rush of warmth it gives them and leans closer. Closer. Stops.

“You are so important to me, Ianto,” he whispers, “you have no idea. You are a valued member of this castle and I don’t know what I would do without you now. You are _lovely,_ truly, in every sense of the word. None of this is fake, I promise.”

As Jack talks, his lips keep brushing Ianto’s, his hands trembling ever so slightly on Ianto’s cheeks. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Ianto’s, trying to make him _believe._

A moment.

“So,” Ianto mumbles finally, “are you going to kiss me properly or keep teasing me?”

“May I?”

“Please?”

And if that isn’t Jack’s new drug of choice, hearing Ianto say ‘please.’

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr while we're all in quarantine. 
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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